Once more on solid ground, outside the building, Bar insisted on the greatest watchfulness and caution in working their way around and back to the bank of the little river. There, at least, they fancied themselves safe, and were pushing along from one lot to another, for the fences were no sort of obstacle, although they were built close down to the water. As they sprang over into one inclosure, however, they were greeted by a hoarse, deep, threatening growl, which brought them to an immediate stand, and there before them, in the moonlight, they discerned the forms of a well-grown boy and a dog who was only too “well-grown.” “It’s Zeb Fuller and his Bob,” exclaimed Val. “We’re in his father’s lot. Zebedee,” he added, “what are you doing out here at this time of night?” “Set some night-lines for eels,” said Zebedee, “and my mind was troubled about them. But what are you out for? Don’t you see what an awful example you’re setting Bob and me?” “We?” said Val. “Oh, we are taking a look at the village.” “Yes,” said Zeb. “I must go and talk with Solomon about it to-morrow. Have you tried your new boat yet, Mr. Cash?” “Vernon,” said Val. “Bar Vernon. He’s to be my chum this winter.” “Had a good time in her to-day,” said Bar. “Good boat.” “Yes,” replied Zebedee, “and it was Puff Evans’s bad luck that the cow tolled the bell for last night.” “Oh,” said Bar, “don’t you and the cow worry about Puff Evans. He’s satisfied. If you don’t believe it you can ask him.” “I’ll ask him,” said Zeb, with more surliness than usually belonged to his nature, but he did not like the looks of things at all. Just then, however, the line he was pulling in gave unmistakable tokens of having something on it, and the next moment he had not only one eel, but two of them, and large ones, wriggling on the bank. “That makes six for to-night,” he remarked, as Bob furtively tried one of the slimy prizes with his paw. “Fond of eels, Cash?” “Very,” said Bar; “I owned an eel-mill once. Show you how to make one, sometime. Come on, Val. That’s a very dissipated-looking dog.” While they were talking, Bar and Val had quietly walked along till they were halfway across the lot, and Bob had apparently recognized them as “boys,” for whom, as such, all fences and the like were constitutionally free, for he had not repeated his note of warning. Even Zeb Fuller was for once a little taken aback. He had his own reasons for not wishing to make a disturbance at that place and time, but he gazed half-angrily after the two friends as they vaulted over into the next inclosure. “Dissipated? Bob, was there ever impudence like that? These fellows’ll get more instructions than old Sol can give them before they’re many days older. Robert, my boy, did you hear what they said about you?” Bob was pawing the eels with a very discontented sort of whine, and did not take up the insult with any spirit.